The Breakable Vow
by A Complete Lack of Sanity
Summary: [HarryPotterShamanKing Crossover] Not your average crossover. Upon hearing about a fire at the Riddle House, the paths of a certain dowser and the Boy Who Lived cross. Meanwhile, Voldemort has plans with Hao... [AU for SK, Post HBP for HP]
1. The Vow

**t h e  
b r e a k a b l e v o w**  
by a complete lack of sanity  
shaman king – harry potter crossover  
**postHBP, contains spoilers for the sixth book. i warned you.**  
this is not your average crossover. yoh and the gang are not going to study at hogwarts.  
takes place a little after the sixth book, but sometime early in the mankin series. yes, my timeline is screwed.  
almost all pairings undecided as of now, reviewers may suggest, suggestions are appreciated and loved  
well, actually i've decided on ron/hermione, but everything else is subject to change.  
all reviews, flames included, are accepted. i like long reviews with con crit.  
no, really. i want flames. call me crazy, but flame me, i need criticism.  
AU for SK, my version of seventh book for HP.  
**prologue: fire at the riddle house**  
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The gloomy, dark ambience created by the dementors was made worse by the terribly windy, cold weather, the cloudy, starless night, and even more so by the two cloaked figures in the graveyard. If one was sensitive to magical forces, then they would feel a great amount of power emanating from the two people who were standing on opposite sides of a grave, the marble headstone clearly marked 'Tom Riddle.'

One of them, tall, in a hooded black cloak, stared mockingly at the other, his red eyes looking intently out from under the hood. Lord Voldemort was not convinced. What could this mere… _boy_ help him? He spoke, his high, cold tone sounding almost like a hiss. "Are you foolish enough to think that you have something to say directly to the Dark Lord?"

"Foolish, I think not," the other person said, a hint of contempt in his tone. "I _was_ able to schedule a meeting with you, am I correct? And the proof that I am worth listening to lies in the fact that I am still not lying in a crumpled heap on the floor."

Voldemort felt a twinge of annoyance. He could easily raise his wand and kill the miserable fool in less than a second, for using that tone of voice with him. But then, the fact that he knew how to reach him, and that he was brave enough—or stupid enough to speak to him in such a tone that kept him from hitting the young man with a Killing Curse.

The person in question seemed to know what Voldemort was reasoning, and was using that point to his advantage. After all, there was much to be gained in making a deal with the 'Dark Lord.' He did not schedule midnight meetings in graveyards for nothing. The wind was blowing rather hard, and it was an inconvenience to both him and Voldemort, as it sent both cloaks flying: Voldemort's black one as well as his own, a light, neutral colored cloak in contrast.

"Your reputation precedes you, Voldemort. Already most people know of The Dark Lord Voldemort, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as they prefer to call you. The one who has killed many, cheated death, and whatever else they accredit to you. I did not schedule this meeting for idle chit-chat, nor did I schedule it simply to count your many achievements."

"A fine way of scheduling meetings," Voldemort said silkily. "There are other ways to get the Dark Lord's attention than killing Death Eaters."

The person almost looked regretful. "Ah, yes. Rabastan Lestrange, was he not?" A pity. And I hear he was quite a good wizard as well. And I was not informed of any 'other ways' beforehand. If you were to make your whereabouts more… public, I might not have had to kill your follower."

"If my reputation truly does precede me, then you must know that the entire Wizarding world is hunting me down," Voldemort countered.

"I was merely joking," he replied. "Or are you so bitter about your recent losses that you cannot take a joke?"

Voldemort laid a hand on his wand, losing almost all of what was left of his patience after years of almost total inexistence. "Surely your purpose is not to mock me."

"To business, then," he continued. "You asked what I could do to help the Dark Lord. Well, I offer a partnership. Killing Lestrange also served the purpose of demonstrating my power."

"Lestrange was weak," Voldemort said dismissively. "I wouldn't count killing him as a great feather in your cap."

"So you let weaklings into your inner circle?"

Voldemort raised his wand. "Who are you, and what do you want?

"Let me tell you a story, Voldemort," he said, taking a deep breath. "One thousand years ago, there was an onmyouji named Asakura Hao. His aim was to destroy all humans, since they polluted the world and disrupted the balance of nature. Although he was killed in attempting to achieve his plans, death was not the end for him. Hao could reincarnate, he had already mastered the five elements."

Voldemort eyed him suspiciously. This seemingly unrelated story may have been part of a plan to catch him off guard. Completely oblivious, the storyteller continued.

"Five hundred years later, Hao reincarnated again, born into the Patch Tribe. In his short time in this life, he managed to steal the Patch Village's Spirit of Fire."

At these last few words, something happened. A giant, red creature appeared in a blur right before Voldemort's eyes. Impressed, Voldemort assumed that this was the Spirit of Fire in question.

"Five hundred years after that, Hao was born into his third life, into the Asakura family again. This Hao is the one you see now." The finally-identified Hao Asakura smirked at the Dark Lord. But he wasn't finished.

"A few years after this, a child named Harry Potter was born, born to parents that defied the Dark Lord thrice.. And this Dark Lord went after this child. For reasons still unknown, the Dark Lord Voldemort was defeated, and this mere child was left with with only a scar."

Hao paused, and Voldemort raised his wand even higher. He disliked being reminded of Godric's Hollow. A good Cruciatus Curse would probably make this Hao person treat the Dark Lord with more respect.

"We are very much alike, Voldemort," Hao said smoothly. "We have similar goals—the destruction of the entire human race—those who you call 'Muggles.' And, most importantly, we have both cheated death."

Voldemort lowered his wand, a bit taken aback by Hao's knowledge of this fact. This was the only sign that he was shocked: his snakelike face remained cold and mocking.

"A Horcrux," Hao said mildly. "Am I right, Voldemort? Enclosing a portion of your soul in a completely separate object. This was how you did not die that night at Godric's Hollow. Quite a clever plan."

_Who was this person, and where did he get all this Dark knowledge? _Voldemort speculated, now even more apprehensive of Hao's potential threat. "Impressive, Hao. Your knowledge on this subject is vaster than what most of my Death Eaters can even speculate."

"A partnership. That is what I offer. Do we have a deal, Voldemort?" Hao looked the Dark Lord straight in his cold red eyes.

Voldemort stared back at Hao in the same cold manner. Here was a very frustrating person—one he wanted to kill, but could not kill yet—be it because of possible usefulness, or just because he was amusing. Whichever it was, Voldemort couldn't kill Asakura Hao. Not yet, anyway.

He weighed the consequences of taking the deal. On the positive side, Hao was indeed very powerful. But with greater power came the greater chance of betrayal. He contemplated this.

_But then… I could always kill him in the end._

"Before we make a deal," Voldemort said coldly, staring at the Spirit of Fire, "A demonstration of your powers might be appropriate."

Hao gave the Dark Lord an evil-looking smile, and quickly turned his attention to a nearby house on a hill. "With pleasure," he said, snapping his fingers. The Spirit of Fire disappeared, and appeared next to the house Hao was previously staring at. And with another snap of his fingers, the house burst into flames.

Satisfied with the demonstration he had put up, Hao looked back at Voldemort. "I know where to reach you, Voldemort," he said, snapping his fingers again, the Spirit of Fire reappearing by his side. And with a second snap, both he and the giant red creature vanished in a whirl of fire.

Voldemort stared as the flames started consuming what was left of the once-great Riddle House. Satisfied, he kicked the dirt over his father's grave. He threw the house one last contemptuous look, before Apparating out of sight.

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so. um.  
this is going to be long.  
as in, really, really freaking long if my muse cooperates.  
this is like my deathwish. i'll have no free time on my hands should i do this.  
so please humor the last wishes of the nearly departed by reviewing.  
**the next chapter will be called searching the ruins**  
the next chapter will star harry and lyserg.

p.s. to all hao supporters,  
sorry, but the hao-voldemort parallel fits.  
really, really well. i actually discussed it on an off-site forum.  
and people actually agreed with my half-crazed theory.  
i'll explain it to you all at a later date.  
promise.if you review.


	2. Decisions

**t h e **

**b r e a k a b l e v o w**

by a complete lack of sanity

shaman king – harry potter crossover

**postHBP, contains spoilers for the sixth book. fairly warned be ye.**

and, on the note of pairings, your suggestions are priceless. i love you all, though I must say:

the following pairings will not be workable: renpiri, harrypiri, mainly because as crack as this is I cannot find out how to bring pirika into it all.

okay. i fail at keeping promises, i renamed this chapter since it was getting long and the actual searching of the ruins isn't actually happening yet.

by the way, the suggestion of harrylyserg actually crossed my mind, and… opinions? shoot me now pls.

keep giving suggestions, they are wonderful and help me get this fic along.

general disclaimer: not mine

**chapter one: decisions**

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You could hear as the eggs in the frying pan sizzled, Petunia Dursley was preparing breakfast in her spotless kitchen. Dudley Dursley was eyeing the stove like a hawk, apparently very ready for breakfast. Petunia gave her Ickle Dudders a sweet, insipid smile, and looked back at the stove. Harry Potter, a witness to all this, wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it all. He'd been here for almost seventeen years, and Dudley hadn't changed one bit.

A whooshing noise was heard by the window, and everyone except Dudley, who was still waiting for the food, turned around to look. Harry turned around to greet the familiar noise, the Dursleys more out of shock and fear. And, to Harry's delight and his relatives' horror, there was an owl perched on the windowsill.

"Get… that… BLOODY OWL… OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Vernon Dursley turned a classic shade of red, and started yelling. Harry sorely wished that it was tomorrow, his birthday, since he would no longer be underage, and might have gotten away with a Silencing Charm. "We've put up with all this magic nonsense for almost seventeen years now, and this is damn well the LAST STRAW! I won't have any more of this nonsense, I--"

"Relax," said Harry, irritated. "I won't be here for long, it's my birthday tomorrow and I'll be leaving. Just like promised."

Harry's comeback surprised his uncle, and caused him to lose any breath he had left for shouting: he opened and closed his mouth, resembling a very red fish. Relieved, Harry got up from his chair and walked over to the window. The tawny owl stared up at Harry, the day's copy of the Daily _Prophet_ tied to its leg. Harry rummaged in his pocket for some spare change, and dropped two knuts into the pouch on the owl's other leg. The owl hooted politely, and flew away.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have regained his senses, and started shouting again. "DON'T READ THAT CRACKPOT NEWSPAPER HERE, BOY! NOT IN THIS HOUSE!"

Harry ignored him and walked out of the kitchen, making his way up to his room, while Aunt Petunia slowly went back to cooking, Uncle Vernon continued to shout his head off, and Dudley remained silent, looking from his mother to his father in confusion.

He made his way up the stairs, eager to read what was going on in the Wizarding world, and impatient for a letter from Ron or Hermione to arrive. He had promised that he would stop over at the Weasley's house for Bill and Fleur's wedding: which was happening any day now. Ron and Hermione had promised to stop and pick him up… any day now… he had sent Hedwig over to the Burrow with a note, and she was due to come back any time soon.

He reached his room, and there was no sign that Hedwig had returned. Frowning, he sat on the bed, opened up the newspaper, and began to read. The giant, bold headline stood out.

_**DEATH EATER FOUND DEAD – "NOT OUR FAULT," SAYS MINISTRY**_

_A slightly familiar photo was on the front page: He had seen that photo before, nearly two years ago in the paper: the time of the mass breakout at Azkaban. On the front page of the newspaper was the scowling face of Rodolphus Lestrange. Harry read the article with a look of confusion on his face:_

_Rodolphus Lestrange, a known Death Eater (supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) was found dead early this morning. Lestrange was discovered on the outskirts of the Village Hogsmeade, burned until he was nearly unrecognizable. _

_A ministry spokesperson said in a statement: "We are deeply shocked by this news. Although the Ministry is on the hunt for Death Eaters, the Ministry takes no blame or credit for this death. Whoever did this did it entirely of their own will, the Ministry does not encourage burning as punishment._

_Rumors have spread that the death was caused by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. The death, although highly unusual, could have been You-Know-Who's warning to his followers, or even a cruel form of punishment. Experts believe (ctd page 3, column 2)_

A fluttering noise by the window interrupted Harry before he could flip to the next page. He lifted his head from the paper to see what had caused the noise, and saw Hedwig, his snowy owl hooting at him from outside the window. She flapped impatiently, knocking her beak against the glass.

"Be patient, I'll be right there," Harry said, folding up the _Prophet_ and going over to the window. Hedwig hooted at him again. He reached for the latch on the window, but for some reason, the lock wouldn't budge. It was stuck, probably from overuse and disrepair. Hedwig didn't seem to get why he was struggling with the lock, and her hoots grew louder. She was obviously very tired from flying.

"It's stuck!" Harry yelled, trying to make himself heard above Hedwig's noise, which now sounded slightly angry. "I… can't… OPEN IT!" Hedwig rapped her beak against the glass. Harry sighed. "Just wait downstairs, okay?"

Hedwig was still annoyed, but flew to the downstairs window just the same. Harry ran downstairs to let her in.

He went down quietly, to avoid getting yelled at by Uncle Vernon again. He noticed they had started eating without him. Dudley had turned on the television in the kitchen, as usual, and was supposed to watch some idiotic morning cartoon. Uncle Vernon grabbed the remote, though and turned it to the morning news. Dudley almost had a temper tantrum right there, but Aunt Petunia shut him up by shoveling more bacon onto his plate. On the news was something about a fire.

"Residents of Little Hangleton are shocked," Harry heard the reporter on television say, "because of the sudden fire at one of their oldest and most historical monuments."

_Little Hangleton…_ _that name rings a bell,_ Harry thought. _I'm sure someone mentioned it before. Was it Hermione? Or Snape? Or…_

The reporter had stopped talking, and was interviewing someone on screen. He heard an old man say, "That Riddle House. Good it's gone, anyway. It was haunted, I swear. Haunted by those good-for-nothing Riddles and their son…"

Something clicked in Harry's mind. _Of course._ _That was where Voldemort's parents lived. That was where Voldemort's parents died. Did Voldemort…_

His train of thought was interrupted by Hedwig, who rapped her beak angrily against the window, which was very well near breaking. Quickly, Harry went over to the window to take the letter from Hedwig, who gave a hoot of relief, and flew up to sit on the edge of the roof. Eagerly, he opened the letter, and saw Hermione's familiar script.

_Dear Harry,_

_Is it set, then? We're going to pick you up tomorrow? We all miss you a terrible amount and we can't wait to pick you up, but Mrs. Weasley says not until tomorrow. Send us a reply so we'll know you're okay. Ron and Ginny say hello, as well. Sorry this letter's short, but Phle—Fleur, sorry, wants to go over the wedding seating arrangement, and they're yelling at me to come down already._

_Yours truly_

_Hermione_

Harry thought about the mysterious coincidence: the fire at the Riddle House, and the fire that had killed Rodolphus Lestrange. Something was up, and he had to investigate.

Dumbledore's voice suddenly popped into his head. _Voldemort was planning on your love of playing the hero…_

_And he's doing the same right now,_ Harry finished for Dumbledore miserably. _I know, I know… but something doesn't feel right about this… the fire wasn't Voldemort's doing, I can feel it._

_But you can't always trust your emotions._ It wasn't Dumbledore's voice this time, it was his own. He sat there silently for a moment, trying to decide what to do. To trust his head or his heart.

After a while, he went upstairs. He had a letter to the Weasleys to write.

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A hundred miles away, by a fairly deserted side street, Lyserg Diethyl was facing a similar problem. He looked up glumly at his guardian spirit, Morphin. "A fire, Morphin. A _fire._"

The pink fairy looked down at him sympathetically. She flew a circle around his head, as if to say, "It's up to you."

"I know it could be just a coincidence, but it seems too weird to be one. It _has _to be Hao. Right?"

Morphin shrugged.

"Well, you're not much help," Lyserg said, sighing. "I need a sign. Should I go to America now and get a head-start on finding Patch Village, or should I investigate that fire?"

Morphin sighed, annoyed that she had been hovering there for more than ten minutes while Lyserg got his priorities straight. Bored, she flew across the street, to perhaps get away from Lyserg's mutterings, if only for a little while.

"Hey… Morphin… where are you going?" Lyserg stood up, aware that Morphin was no longer at his side. "Morphin—" He put up a hand, as if he could stop her from going.

A loud bang sounded, and Lyserg stared in shock as a giant purple bus appeared out of nowhere. Morphin looked back at the sound, and came back quickly enough to watch Lyserg fall flat on his back.

The conductor smiled down encouragingly at him. "Welcome to the Knight Bus. Emergency transport for any stranded witch or wizard. Eleven Sickles for a ride, but for firteen you get 'ot chocolate, and for fifteen--"

Lyserg looked at the conductor, bewildered. _There was his sign, _he was thinking. _A purple bus appearing out of nowhere. Clearly, it meant that he should go straight to Little Hangleton via bus to investigate that fire, since purple buses were--_

_Huh?_

He had to sit and think for a while. Noticing that the conductor was still talking, he said the first thing that came to his mind that might make him shut up. "A-all right," he blurted out.

He quickly noticed he had probably made a huge mistake in saying yes. Firstly, what were _Sickles?_

The conductor, a pimply young man named Stan Shunpike, abruptly stopped talking and looked down at Lyserg. "So you're coming? What're you doing still on the ground, then?" He held a hand out to help Lyserg up. "My name's Stan Shunpike by the way, and I've never seen the likes of you on the Knight Bus before. You are?"

"L-Lyserg Diethyl," he replied, still a little shocked.

"Well then, Lyserg, tell me where you want to go."

"I think it's called… Little Hangleton?" Lyserg said. "I need to get there as soon as possible… I'll pay you later," he added quickly, realizing he had no money of any sort to give the man.

Stan paused, thinking for a while. What if the boy had no money? He looked at Lyserg again. He seemed a bit nervous, but all together honest. After a very long silence, he spoke.

"All right then, Lyserg. I trust you. Hop aboard."

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so there be-eth the second installment of my death-wish.

quality of writing deteriorates as chapter goes along, i need sleep now srsly.

anyway. the** NEXT** chapter will be called searching the ruins. i sort-of-promise.


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